


Out Through the Curtain

by snowmissus (soul_of_blaze)



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Bilbo is a writer, Christmas, Christmas With Family, Established Relationship, M/M, Thorin is awkward, and the CEO of the family company, more tags characters and relationships to be added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-22
Updated: 2014-06-22
Packaged: 2018-02-05 19:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1829449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soul_of_blaze/pseuds/snowmissus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Bilbo convinced his boyfriend that spending Christmas with the Baggins family was a good idea, he really doesn't know but there they are: Bilbo cooking with Bungo and Thorin somehow on children-wrangling duty (but it's more like 'pile on top of Uncle Bilbo's boyfriend').</p>
            </blockquote>





	Out Through the Curtain

**Author's Note:**

> i was reading a fic for a completely different fandom and ship but it involved family christmas and since bilbo/thorin is my OTP i just... had to do something like that 
> 
> which resulted in this little Christmas AU and THAT GREW so. heres the first part. no christmas but the next two parts will be christmas
> 
> (as always thanks to jonna, cause without her i probably wouldn't get very far writing au ideas actually out and also for her own ideas helping me along)

 If anyone had asked, Bilbo Baggins would have admitted that he didn’t like coffee. He never had, a trait he gained from his father (but that was hardly surprisingly, Bungo having grown up in England his entire life and Belladonna being one who hadn’t stayed anywhere the moment she was old enough to travel).

No one ever does, though.

At least not until Bilbo runs smack into a stranger on the street.

The day it happens, he finishes another chapter of his manuscript. And he knows it’s probably a bit of a cliché, writing in a coffeehouse but he truly does like the atmosphere of this particular one (Esgaroth, a small little coffeehouse that he found months back). The baristas don’t mind, because he sometimes stays for hours and orders tea and bakery items the whole time. He’s their only true regular, who comes in almost every day. But having finished a chapter and sending it off to his editor (so recent Bilbo still has to type his email in, but Ori is a blessing), he makes the decision to leave.

Maybe see Bofur, or another of his small group of friends.

Regardless, he stands up and heads for the counter before he leaves. Not that it’s terribly cold outside, the last August heat hanging in the air even though it’s September, but he knows the wind outside will make it cooler and the temperature has already dropped. Even having the cup of tea in his hands will be a nice warmth.

“Your usual tea, then, Bilbo?” The barista grins, her pretty blonde hair up out of her face. The coffeehouse is not only small, but apparently a family business as Bilbo has come to understand. Her nametag says _Sigrid_ on it, although Bilbo has known it for some time.

He’s never seen their father but Sigrid has an older brother and a younger sister, Bain and Tilda. Today though, it’s only Sigrid at the counter.

Bilbo likes her. She is the friendliest of the three, where Bain is not as talkative and Tilda too young to be anything besides shy.

“Yes, thank you,” he smiles, tucking his laptop and notebook away into his bag. Though he types everything, his notebook is the physical copy of all his ideas from the first, basic ones to the detailed ideas that end up in his novels.

He has his tea a few moments later, and with a quick wave to Sigrid, he’s stepping out of the coffeehouse. Bilbo finds that the afternoon isn’t as cold as he thought it might be, but the warmth of the tea in his hands remains a nice feeling.

The streets aren’t too busy, not for this time of day anyway. That’s nice, for Bilbo, who much prefers his solidarity and has long ago accepted that he would always be alone.

As much as he loves romance movies, and he really truly does it is a guilty pleasure of his, the cliché of running into some stranger on the street, a bump in, well, that’s not going to happen. He really wouldn’t want it to, anyway.

What sort of person bumps into someone in a street and falls in love with them?

Characters of the romance genre, of course, but Bilbo is a simple man who hardly fits any description befitting the charming characters of romance.

He manages darting through the small crowd, between little families and couples. If he can get down the street and around the corner, Bombur’s café isn’t too far away from there. Not as small as the coffeehouse, but its familial atmosphere is another Bilbo enjoys greatly.

His phone rings.

Glancing down, Bilbo fishes for it among his things in his bag. He’s always trying to remember to put it in his pocket, but the inevitable happens: he shoves it into his bag when leaving. It’s awkward, trying to get the phone out of his bag with tea in one hand and still trying to walk. Still, his fingers curl triumphantly around the phone and he yanks it out of the bag.

It’s unfortunate, really, and he should have looked up sooner, but he doesn’t even get a chance to see who was calling him.

Just as he does look up, the only view he has is of someone’s chest at his eye-level and he doesn’t even have time to stumble back or stop. They collide. Everything Bilbo has goes flying off, but on the sidewalk at least and not into the street.

Once Bilbo has oriented himself, he realizes that while he’s still clutching tightly onto his phone, his tea is no longer warm in his hands. Or in his hands at all, really.

No, oh no, it’s all over the front of the stranger that he literally ran straight into. His previous thoughts flood his mind, but he shakes it off and manages to at least right himself up.

The Stranger, for his luck, did not need to do any of that as he stood there. Bilbo is small, compared to him, not causing him to fall like Bilbo had. He has a cell in his hand, and Bilbo can hear a woman’s voice sharply from it, but the man ignores it.

He’s glaring harshly at Bilbo.

And Bilbo might have been more perceptive to it, really, he would have, but the man… the man is just so damn attractive. Bilbo finds himself gaping a bit. He catches himself, embarrassment heightening as he frets, wringing his hands.

“Oh, god, I am _so_ sorry-”

The man’s glare silences him, and he snaps the cell shut without even saying anything to the woman on the other end. Bilbo thinks that that’s rather rude. In fact, the man himself seems plain rude. Despite his attractiveness, and really, an attitude like that could well put Bilbo off. Bilbo almost feels like crossing his arms, letting out a ‘hmph’ and stomping away but… well, he is the one who ran into the man.

It’s then that he notices a briefcase and a few files, he thinks they must be files, across the sidewalk. It is also then he realizes people around them have stopped and are watching. God, so, so embarrassing.

“I-”

“Watch where you’re going.”

The Stranger’s voice is rather harsh, but there is another quality of attractiveness to it and that makes Bilbo further angrier. This man is endlessly frustrating from his good looks to his obviously foul attitude.

God, he’s truly handsome. Obviously, he’s a bit older than Bilbo, the silver in his hair an indicator of it (although those could have come from stress but Bilbo just has a feeling), but it looks… well, good. Attractive as hell, anyway, to Bilbo. Minus the tea Bilbo had managed spilling on him, his suit he’s wearing makes him all the more professional and the briefcase will be probably just add to that. What attracts Bilbo most are his eyes, a shockingly warm blue despite the cold attitude the stranger exudes.

Then there’s Bilbo. Small, always in his sweater vests and the like, his glasses still knocked slightly askew. He fixes them hastily, not having thought about it until facing a handsome stranger. He ducks his head. No one wants an older man anyway, at least not one who looks like Bilbo. That’s why he’s single.

Bilbo resolves he is not in the middle of some romance novel or movie. He will get his things, and hurry his way to Bombur’s café. There, he can stuff himself full of his favorite cake and bemoan the incident to Bofur.

With a sigh, he leans down to gather his things. Everything but his laptop (thank god) has fallen out of his bag. As he reaches for a manuscript, or rather the roughest draft of his novel, the stranger picks it up and hands it to him.

“Oh, t-thank you,” he manages, glancing up but the man isn’t looking at him. Bilbo quickly shoves everything else into his bag.

He makes his escape to the safety of Bombur’s café before he can further make things worse. In his haste to get around the corner of the block, he doesn’t look back and he doesn’t see the stranger look back at him over his shoulder.

 

“… I can’t believe that,” Bofur says, grinning while Bilbo drowns his new found sorrow in the slice of cake. Like most of his food, he eats the cake slowly and savors it. Beside himself, Bombur happens to be the best cook he knows.

“Well, it happened,” he snaps, biting down onto the fork hard.

“Just like a romance movie, Bil,” his friend laughs, leaning forward. “Does that make me your best friend who you tell everything and I tell you to go after him?”

“My life is not a romance movie, nor will it ever be,” Bilbo glares, focusing back on his cake slice.

“Because you should.”

“What?”

“Go after him, or something like that.” Bofur waves his hand around vaguely. “The Tall, Dark, and Handsome Stranger is your type, I know that, you know it,” he pauses. “Bombur knows it.”

“Stop,” Bilbo groans into his hands. “I have no reason to, and why.. no way he would be interested in me.”

“Don’t do that,” he frowns, pointing an accusing finger at Bilbo. “I know you think you’re too homely, or whatever, but some guy is gonna come along and sweep you off your feet, and you deserve that.”

“I really don’t want my life to be a romance movie, Bofur.”

“Suit yourself, it’s what I like to daydream about,” Bofur grins when Bilbo snorts. “Oh yes, a business man, maybe, who knows what he wants and what he’s doing.”

“Stop daydreaming,” Bombur says, coming over to them. It’s almost closing time, which reminds Bilbo he still needs to go home. “And help me clean up,” he turns and points at Bilbo. “Go home. You’ve had a stressful day and you don’t need to be thinking on some rude stranger.”

Bilbo smiles, bidding the brothers a goodbye as he heads home. He’s got an email or two waiting for him by the time he does. One is from Ori, and that can wait until tomorrow morning. The other is from his mother, a reminder about coming down to celebrate his birthday back home.

He’s never had a birthday anywhere else.

Before he goes to bed, he double checks his things in his bag. That’s when it happens.

His notebook isn’t there.

Bilbo sits down on the edge of his bed, pressing a hand over his mouth to stifle the groan of distress. It’s too late to call Bofur and ask for his help, but he knows he didn’t leave it at Bombur’s café. Nor at the coffee shop. It had fallen out when he’d bumped into the Stranger. Either it had been swept into the street, and was no longer, or it had been picked up by someone. All his ideas. In the hands of someone else.

He tried his hardest to console himself with the fact that someone may have ducked into a shop and handed it over. Bilbo was at least well known for his one book and always writing in the Esgaroth coffeehouse during the day.

There was nothing he could do now. Tomorrow morning, he’d check with the coffeehouse before anything else.

In the morning, he heads out far earlier than he would normally go to the coffeehouse. As he is not a coffee drinker, he doesn’t go there in the morning for a kick of caffeine. He goes there for the tea, and the feeling it provides him.

Everything is blissfully quiet on his way there and he prays that he will get his notebook back. Otherwise, they were going to have a problem and not one he was properly ready to deal with yet.

Longing for a shoulder to cry on, but having none and no other choice, Bilbo pushes moodily into the coffeehouse. Sigrid stands, manning the counter again. He can see Tilda and Bain working together on coffee in the back. The smell of coffee did relax him, even the tiniest bit and Sigrid’s genuine smile makes him feel better.

“Good morning,” she chirps. “The usual?”

“Morning,” Bilbo murmurs, pressing a hand to his temple. “Yes. Sorry, have you possibly seen a notebook around her somewhere?”

“No,” she shrugs, leaning against the counter. “Are you talking about the one you’re always writing in?”

“Yes,” he sighs. “It appears I have lost it.”

“Hm,” Sigrid says in reply. Tilda comes out with his tea, handing it over to him carefully and smiling shyly. Bilbo smiles back, thinking of his much younger cousins. “Oh, you know what,” her older sister says, as he is paying for the tea. “Some man came in yesterday, only a bit after you left. I don’t know much about it because Bain took over, but I think he was looking for you.”

“For me?” Bilbo shoots her a doubting look.

Hardly anyone could be looking for Bilbo. His thoughts jump on the man he’d bumped into. The Stranger? Well, he could have it, that wouldn’t be too surprising. And.. he really wouldn’t mind seeing the man’s handsome face again.

“Mm,” she nods. “Bain told him to come by again today. I hope you don’t mind? He was pretty attractive, I mean, for someone who’s probably da’s age.”

The grin on Sigrid’s face is wide, a glimmer in her eyes. Bilbo coughs politely.

“That’s fine, thank you,” he takes his coffee and turns, heading for his table.

 If the Stranger does have his notebook, and he wanted to give it back to him, then he really shouldn’t leave the café until the man had showed up. With a quiet sigh, Bilbo opens up his laptop and began typing out an email to Ori.

It’s… interesting to have an editor who knows what they’re doing and doesn’t let any sort of friendship interrupt the fact of editing itself. Refreshing, Bilbo thinks. And, well, he hasn’t actually met Ori. Which is fine, because it keeps him from forming a friendship that harms his writing. Not that editors you are friends with do that, but they can be less blunt with their editing.

Bilbo likes criticism, so long as it isn’t rude.

Looking over the notes and highlighted areas Ori has sent him, he makes a few mental notes before clicking open his mother’s email. He sighs before he even finishes reading the first few sentences. Of course, _of course_ the first thing she wants to know about is her son’s romantic situation. 

It had long ago stopped being a concern for Bilbo, no matter how many times he watched romance movies with tissues and a carton of ice cream.

He did not care, he didn’t!

No matter what his mother says in every single one of her emails.

Luckily, that’s her only pestering concerning his romantic life. The rest of her email asks if he’s coming down for his birthday again, and yes, of course he is.

His hometown is a comfy place. Contrasting to the city he lives in now, it sits on the edge of a much bigger town but his parents didn’t seem to mind too much. Belladonna had been the one to push Bilbo more into living somewhere else, at least for a few years and if he really wanted to, he could come home. But Bilbo.. had not. At least not yet.

But the Shire? It’s gorgeous and green, lush, everything that Bilbo knows as home. Where his father grew up, where his mother had traveled ages ago and fell in love with Bungo Baggins. She’d settled down, and to the day, Belladonna loved it.

Bilbo likes going every year, because he comes to miss it around the time of his birthday.

It’s a few long hours before his notebook does show back up.

Outside of his thoughts, he hears the sharp _ding_ of the bell over the door. Bilbo doesn’t glance up, though, as he couldn’t care about whoever it might be and he has to at least look closer at the changes Ori has suggested. Not much he can do besides that, until he has his notebook back. It has his main notes about the next chapter.

He jumps when a notebook, no wait _his_ notebook, is slapped down in front of him. Though he’s relieved, he can feel the presence of whoever has brought it hovering over him. Bilbo looks up.

And into the irritated face of the Stranger. He doesn’t look any less grumpy, in fact Bilbo thinks he might look grumpier than he had when they’d ran into each other. Something in Bilbo, maybe the bubble of hope he’d secretly had, sinks. Obviously, the man doesn’t like him.

“This is yours, isn’t it?” He demands.

Bilbo sort of hopes the man will continue yelling at him, only if he can hear that rich voice a bit longer. He could certainly… work into his book, maybe, and Ori had suggested another character.

You’re being pathetic, he tells himself.

The Stranger looks uncertain now, less grumpy and more concerned. Bilbo realizes he should probably reply before things get awkward. Not that they aren’t already, as Sigrid is watching them with a grin from the counter.

He picks up the notebook, even though he has already identified it as his. Flipping through it, he makes one or two contemplative noises as though he’s not quite sure. But he really doesn’t have time to try and flirt with his, er, the stranger.

“Yes, thank you,” Bilbo smiles gratefully at him, turning to tuck it back into his bag. He won’t be running into people again.

Truth be, he isn’t really sure what he is expecting. Perhaps to never see the Stranger again, and he frowns at the thought but it’s the most likely outcome. He was kind enough to return Bilbo’s notebook and that is enough. No reason for him to want to see the writer again.

So, he really is not prepared when the man sits down. Bilbo looks up, over the top of his laptop. The man has his arms crossed and he stares at Bilbo until he has to duck his head back to the highlighted sections of his writing on the laptop’s screen.

The Stranger says nothing else the entire time.

 When Bilbo leaves, around his normal departure time, he files it away as a weird thing. And he doesn’t concern himself with it anymore, because honestly?

He hardly expects anything else besides that, and his thoughts are on the new character he should add and making plans for his yearly trip home in time for his birthday.

As it turns out, everything that happens over the following days should really be filed away as weird and unsettling. Bilbo keeps his schedule the same as always, arriving between early morning and noon to the café. He orders his tea, sits at the table that has always been his since he became a regular and writes away.

He exchanges emails with Ori on a more regular basis, as it seems he’s forming a minor friendship with his editor. It was likely to happen, anyway, and Bilbo has so few friends that he lets it. Ori doesn’t change his editing style and Bilbo accepts the friendship happily.

And on some days, he heads out earlier for a slice of Bombur’s cake and a teasing from Bofur.

There’s… just one thing that makes everything weird and unsettling.

The Stranger.

See, Bilbo had expected the man to disappear completely from his life. But, he hadn’t. No, when Bilbo comes in the next day, closer to noon than yesterday, he’s exhausted and he orders stronger tea than he normally would have.

He’s typing away at the next chapters, listening to Ori’s advice and assurance that he could handle editing more than one chapter at a time. Working the new character into the story is going to be a bit difficult, but every so often he scribbles out a note about him. It should work out.

There’s the scrape of a chair, and when he glances up briefly in mild confusion, he’s staring at the Stranger. This time, the man at least has a cup of coffee so he’s not just sitting there staring at Bilbo. He does do that though, stare pointedly at Bilbo while he tries ignoring him.

It’s not easy.

And the unfortunate thing about the Stranger? He seems to exude something that forces people away from even saying hi to Bilbo, which the other regulars usually do.

When Bilbo goes to sip at his tea, he glances at the Stranger. He’s tilted his head at some point since Bilbo has last looked at him.

“It’s a bit clichéd, don’t you think?” His rough voice is still damn attractive, which Bilbo curses in his mind.

“Pardon?” A smile. The Stranger frowns.

Right, should he even attempt being nice with this man?

“Writing, in a coffeehouse. I thought only people in movies did that?” Ah. “You don’t really look the type.”

Bilbo wants to ask what sort of type he is supposed to look like, or what he does look like to the man. He loses his courage with the frown deepening on his face.

“I like the atmosphere, that’s all,” he says it quietly, feeling a bit insulted.

Whatever his tone is, it seems to turn the Stranger off the conversation as well.

This is how it has been going. For an entire week, the Stranger sits down with him and it starts to become part of his normal routine. But, unfortunately, the man rarely follows any type of schedule. He arrives at varying times, but at least always sits with Bilbo.

Sometimes he tries conversation, but they never get very far with that, as the Stranger has a very good way with insulting Bilbo instead of anything else. He thinks it must be on accident, because once when he glances over the edge of his laptop the man looks embarrassed. Other days, he says nothing and Bilbo doesn’t particularly like those. At least being insulted sounds nice, in that voice.

Today isn’t really any different, though he’s yawning a lot and making more than a few mistakes as he writes. Ori will yell at him if sends a document with too many mistakes.

He takes a break, rubbing at his eyes with the heels of his hands. When he looks up, the Stranger is looking at him with an odd look. In fact, he looks ready to say something and must be opening his mouth to do so, but then, Sigrid is there.

“Sorry,” she says, as politely as a teenage girl with that sort of look on her face can. “I forgot to tell you something, Bilbo.”

“What is it?” Bilbo smiles, glad for the distraction.

“Well, you know, you’ve been a regular here for a while but you haven’t met da yet, and he’s going to be working this Saturday,” she smiles nervously. “I know you usually don’t come in on the weekends, but…”

“Oh, no, I would love to meet him! I’ll stop by,” he smiles, nodding. Sigrid grins in relief and disappears back to the counter.

Bilbo looks back over at the Stranger, expecting him to say something but he only looks grumpier than usual. With a sigh, he goes back to tapping slowly away at a particular section of mistakes he’s managed to make in the past hour.

And he doesn’t know why he does it, maybe partly on the convincing of Bofur, but he does bring his friend in the next day. Sigrid smiles warmly at him, and a few minutes later he and Bofur sit down with their beverages in hand.

Bilbo didn’t bring his laptop, thinking that it might be nice for once to just sit and enjoy the coffeehouse in the way most people did.

Besides, he and Bofur aren’t going to be there long enough for him to write.

They’re halfway through their drinks, Bofur describing something about his family, when the Stranger comes in. Bilbo glances up, and then sharply back down because he catches the man’s eyes. He doesn’t really want to see what he thinks of Bofur sitting there.

Though he does sort of hope it might make the Stranger a little jealous.

“Huh,” Bofur says, startling Bilbo slightly.

“Hm?”

Bofur’s staring in the direction of Bilbo’s Stranger. The man is glaring slightly at the two of them as he orders a coffee (Bilbo has come to notice that he rarely gets the same thing, for some reason).

“I know him,” he says matter-of-factly, and Bilbo frowns at that. Surely, his friend wouldn’t have been able to recognize the man from his less detailed descriptions of him.

“You _do_?”

“Sure, he’s the CEO of a pretty large company here,” Bofur looks back at Bilbo with a frown. “I know you’ve only been here for a few years, but don’t you at least watch the news? He was all over it a couple of years ago… well, guess that was before you moved here. Can’t remember his first name for the life of me, something Durin though, I know that. Cause the company’s called _Durin and Sons’_ , and all that.”

Bilbo glances back at Mr. Durin, then. It’s better than calling him the Stranger at least.

“Ah,” then: “Well, that’s the man I ran into. You know, the one I spilled my tea on?”

“You’re kidding,” Bofur says it with a laugh, and he believes Bilbo well enough, if he’s laughing at his friend’s expense. “Seriously, Bilbo, this _is_ turning into a romance movie.”

“No,” he groans, hiding his face and downing the rest of his tea. Bofur’s been done with his coffee. Mr. Durin is still in line for his coffee, so before Bofur can find a reason to make them stay, Bilbo runs them out of the coffeehouse and on to their other plans.

“I always did think you liked men a bit older than you,” Bofur says, with a grin and Bilbo half-heartedly punches his friend as they disappear down the sidewalk.

The next day, although he would have normally slept in and not bothered getting out of bed until he was too hungry not to, ran the same as his usual days did. Bilbo makes his way to the coffeehouse, though really only to meet the actual owner of the coffeehouse. Once again, he decides against bringing his laptop with him.

When he steps inside, from what is a rather brutal assault of rain and wind, the small man surveys the shop for no reason other than taking it in on a weekend day.

Mr. Durin is sitting at the table Bilbo always occupies. Which is odd, because all considered, the man had never come in before Bilbo and… well, Bilbo didn’t want to think it but he had sort of entertained the idea that Mr. Durin only came for him.

It was a bit silly now that he thinks of it.

Besides that, the patrons do not look all that different from the ones that come in and out during the weekdays he spends there.

He looks over at the counter, keeping his eyes away from Mr. Durin. He has no idea if the man has noticed him yet, but he isn’t sure he wants to catch his eye. At the counter, Sigrid stands working one of the cash registers and…

Bilbo sucks in a breath.

It must be their father, and the man is downright gorgeous. Not as Mr. Durin is, Bilbo finds himself thinking and he shakes it out of his mind. What sort of thought was that and where on earth had it come from?

Well, if Bilbo were the main character of a romance movie, he might be okay with one cliché. One involving him and the owner of the coffeehouse he’d been spending all his lonely days in. Not that it would happen, and he brushes it away with an easier shake than the thoughts about Mr. Durin.

Instead, he steps up the counter and smiles friendly as he can. Besides her father, Sigrid looks up and grins before elbowing her father and whispering something to him. And he nods, turning towards Bilbo and smiling openly at him.

“Hello,” he says, and well, he even has a pleasant voice. Not one that rivals Mr. Durin’s but-

Bilbo frowns, shaking the thought away.

“Hello,” he greets back, before offering his hand. “Bilbo Baggins.”

“I figured,” the man says. “I’m Bard. My daughters told me you come in here nearly every day.”

“Well,” Bilbo grins, glancing down. “It’s a nice place, I like the atmosphere. It helps my writing.”

They carry on the conversation for a while, but eventually Bilbo does order his usual tea. When Bard hands it over, their fingers brush and he flushes for a moment before hurrying over to the clustered tables. Truth be, there are several empty tables he could sit at. Mr. Durin doesn’t looks up when he sits down.

It’s a little awkward now, without his laptop. Bilbo stares at the middle of the table, tracing the pattern with his eyes.

Mr. Durin doesn’t say a single thing, in fact, the entire time they are there. He drinks his coffee at a slow place while Bilbo drinks his tea at a more moderate pace. He has things to do, has to pack for visiting his parents for his birthday and he wants that all done early in the day.

Right before he gets up to leave, Bilbo does look up and he’s a bit thrown off. Because he manages to catch Mr. Durin’s gaze when he does. The man is looking at him with interest, but beyond that there’s something more tender in his gaze and it flusters Bilbo.

But then, he doesn’t really have time for contemplating it as he’s got to leave and get his errands done before he has to leave.

As always, his mother pesters him about romance and such the moment he’s in the door. Bungo sends him a sympathetic look but that is all he gets out of his father.

“Well,” Bilbo manages after he’s calmed down his mother. “There… there might be someone.” He adds sharply, “Maybe.”

“Oh?” Belladonna grins, leaning forward over the table. Bungo looks interested himself.

“I don’t know,” he sighs. “There’s this man.. he sits with me every day at the coffeehouse. But he doesn’t talk to me much, short of insulting me so I really don’t know.”

“But you like him?”

Bilbo looks at his father in surprise before shrugging his shoulders.

“I might, but I don’t know him very well,” he frowns. “I just think he’s attractive, is all.”

“You should ask him out!” Belladonna nods, crossing her arms. “It wouldn’t hurt, darling.”

Bilbo smiles and lies through his teeth that he will.

There’s no way in his sane mind he’s going to ask someone out, much less Mr. Durin. Bofur is right, about his life taking a spin into the romance movie department. Though, if he can prevent it? He will. Bilbo hardly needs the trouble of someone entering his life and mucking it up, much less that any more romantic clichés would be terrible.

They would. He tries to convince himself, at least.

Sigrid greets him heartily when he comes in to the coffeehouse after being gone for a few days. The trip to his parents isn’t too long, a few hours at most, so he tends to stay longer than he plans. Not that it matters, since he can write anywhere and… there isn’t any waiting for him.

The line is longer than usual today and Bilbo is only slightly irritated by it. He has several ideas forming his mind, bumping into each other but they all concern the upcoming events of his book. It’s fine for him to wait and think on them before doing anything real with well, any of them. One or two might make it in, but even those will be far more developed and nearly nothing like the original thought.

His table is empty and he thinks about scooting over to place his things just in case, but he also doesn’t really like losing his spot in line.

By the time he gets to the counter, where Sigrid quickly takes orders and gives them out, the line has become sparser and the people behind him have all but disappeared to the other register. Quicker for them, he knows, but it’s still a little irritable.

And he could have dumped his things, without losing his spot, although his spot is still empty so he isn’t all that worried about it.

Bilbo jumps when a hand settles on his shoulder. There is one person left in front of him, as he was about to order his tea and wait patiently again. Sigrid looks expectant but she glances over at who is touching him and looks away.

He takes a breath.

“Excuse me,” he starts and turns around, pausing. “O-oh.”

Mr. Durin frowns down at him.

“Can I,” he clears his throat, but doesn’t remove his hand from Bilbo’s shoulder. “C-can I buy you a coffee?”

“No,” Bilbo blurts it out. It’s likely because he’s too surprised for any other response. Honestly, wanting to buy _him_ a coffee. And the trembling, the slight stutter in his voice. Was it out of nervousness? Bilbo could hardly believe that.

“Oh.”

“I don’t drink coffee,” he hurries out, smiling reassuringly. Only because Mr. Durin looks embarrassed and disappointed. His face perks up slightly. “So.. you can buy me my tea.”

Mr. Durin steps forward, ordering some type of coffee before ordering the tea Bilbo always orders himself. He tries not to blush at the thought that the man knows his tea. They wait, as amicably as possible but Bilbo fidgets uncomfortably.

It’s only because he has no idea if the offer to buy him coffee is a gesture for friendship or if it’s for something more. He _really_ wants it to be for something more.

Which honestly surprises him and he finds it even harder to look over at Mr. Durin while they wait.

He doesn’t even know the man’s name!

When the coffee and tea arrives, Bilbo steps up to take his tea but Mr. Durin swipes up both of them and Bilbo has no choice but to follow him to the their table. It rolls through his thoughts like that without him thinking and it nearly forces him into tripping over the chair.

The table is declared Bilbo’s by not only himself but by Sigrid and her siblings. It is not theirs, because they are not anything but fellow coffeehouse goers.

How embarrassing, Bilbo thinks, as he accepts the tea from Mr. Durin. Their fingers brush, and it’s almost reminiscent of the previous time with Bard except that when he looks up with a slightly reddened face, he’s staring back at the gorgeous blue eyes and a face nearly as red as he is.

“Thorin.”

“W-what?”

“I.. my name is Thorin,” Mr. Durin – Thorin -  says and Bilbo stares hard at him. “Are you alright?”

He’s nearly spilled tea on himself and Bilbo curses his stupidity silently.

“Yes, I’m.. fine,” he sighs, setting his cup down. “Bilbo. Bilbo Baggins.”

Thorin nods, looking down and taking a long drink of his coffee. Probably because he doesn’t know what to say and well, neither does Bilbo. He sips awkwardly at his tea, waiting for his mother’s courage to kick in. It’s in his blood, and it tends to take over in situations like this. Well, he hopes that at least.

“Why do you keep sitting with me?” There it is.

“What?” Thorin at least looks properly confused.

“Why? We don’t even talk enough, with you short of insulting me, and I think you know that I only come here because I need somewhere to write.”

Thorin sighs, ever so lightly, but it is there. He sets his coffee down as well and they have a staring contest. Bilbo eventually looks away, messing with his glasses awkwardly instead.

“That notebook, the one you lost when you ran into me,” Thorin’s voice is shaking, just a bit and it forces Bilbo into looking back over. “I read it.”

“You _what_?”

“I thought it was-”

Bilbo stands up so abruptly that the man actually cuts himself off in surprise. He’s infinitely glad in that moment that he hasn’t brought anything but his bag over his shoulder. Still, he does grab his tea because a free tea, especially his favorite, cannot go to waste despite the man who has bought it for him. He sniffs. Thorin is still looking at him.

“Thank you for the tea,” he says curtly, stomping out of the coffeehouse.

Bilbo complains, for two hours, over the phone to Bofur. His friend listens diligently, doesn’t comment at all about anything as he knows the author prefers. Being interrupted isn’t exactly Bilbo’s favorite thing in the world but few people respect that.

When he’s done, he’s heaving in air and his anger has dissipated. It’s really not that big of a deal, he thinks, but he’s still mildly upset that Thorin read his notebook.

Bofur knows him too well.

“I understand you’re upset, Bil, but I don’t think that it was deserving of you stomping out on him,” Bofur’s frown can be heard through the phone. “You should go back and if he’s still there, apologize to him at least. Or something.”

“I don’t owe him an apology,” he grumbles. Because as sorry as he is for being so irrational, he doesn’t think what Thorin did is completely justified.

“It’s advice,” Bofur sighs. “If you’re not gonna, be kind enough to explain to him why you were so upset.”

Bilbo hangs up after that, but he does think about that. He probably should. He doesn’t want to lose the coffeehouse’s atmosphere for what it was. Not that he thought Thorin would continue going to the coffeehouse but it is a possibility.

He ends up avoiding the coffeehouse until Friday. It is a terrible habit, avoiding things like this but he does go in on Friday. Sigrid isn’t at the counter, Bain is and he glances up at Bilbo. There is a little line, a usual Friday crowd at this time, but he thinks the boy is probably already brewing his tea. No sign of Thorin and since Bain really doesn’t say much, there isn’t a report like Sigrid would give him.

As he’s typing out an email to Ori, half-heartedly grumbling about the new character he’s added (but according to his editor, the character is what the story needed exactly), the ding of the bell sounds. Bilbo doesn’t look up, far too engrossed in describing how seeing his mother and father helped him gain part of the story back.

But he does look up when the chair opposite of him scrapes against the floor.

Thorin stares nervously at him. The man isn’t dressed in a suit as he normally is. He’s wearing more casual clothes, still too expensive to look normal but at least he isn’t all business man at the moment.

“I’m going to apologize to you,” he says and Bilbo slowly closes his laptop with a sigh. “And I want you to understand that I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You did,” Bilbo replies.

“I.. Alright. I didn’t think I would, but I won’t try and understand that unless you want to explain it to me,” Thorin continues. “I realize now that reading your notebook was an invasion of your privacy and I had no right. But it was good and… despite you spilling all your tea over my shirt,” Bilbo glares at him and he winces. “Despite that, I think that I might like you. Which is why I’m here. I mean, why I have been here.”

“Huh,” Bilbo manages and then, “Oh.”

“Sorry,” Thorin does actually look apologetic. For some reason, Bilbo notices now that he has no coffee, that he has merely sat down with Bilbo instead of getting something from the coffeehouse. “I’ll just-”

“Do you want a coffee?”

Thorin gives him an incredulous look. But then, he nods and Bilbo murmurs “ _Right_ ,” and gets up to buy him a coffee.

It will be about two weeks later that Thorin actually asks him out on a real, proper date but by that time they’ve been talking with each other at the coffeehouse for a good while.

(Thorin will ask, sometime before they start dating but after they’ve started buying each other drinks, about his preference of tea over coffee.

Why doesn’t he drink coffee?

Bilbo only shrugs, because he doesn’t have an answer to that question, no one has cared enough to ask anyway.

He just really doesn’t like coffee.

Thorin doesn’t seem thoroughly convinced that’s the answer but Bilbo doesn’t know what else to say to it.)

Bilbo will move in with Thorin after a year of dating him, if only because Thorin had awkwardly asked and he had a very hard time telling his boyfriend no. But it will be a long time before their relationship moves further than being boyfriends who live together.


End file.
